


sounds of the universe

by oryx



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is apathy, in the end, that proves to be his undoing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sounds of the universe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hostilecrayon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostilecrayon/gifts).



> disjointed & a bit odd, but that's kind of how i see their relationship anyhow?  
> marked as gen but there are some onesided yuan->kratos implications, so. just throwin' that out there ;o

Over the years, Yuan Ka-Fai has grown used to scorn.

 

It is an irrefutable fact of life for a half-elf – the casual, callous contempt in the eyes of those who do not even know his name. To them his accomplishments mean little. His battle prowess is pure luck, they whisper, his position in the military the result of underhanded subterfuge, his medals of honor a fluke, a mere error in the system.

 

Yuan has learned how to deal with disdain. Ignore it or confront it. Turn the other cheek or let them taste the edge of his blade. Either way he wins, for though he is young there are few who can hold their own against him.

 

Yes, he thinks. Scorn is easy.

 

It is apathy, in the end, that proves to be his undoing.

 

.

 

.

 

Kratos and Martel sit together, sometimes, in the early morning hours or late at night when the firelight is dying out. They speak in hushed tones about today’s revelations and tomorrow’s journeys, tracing on the map the paths they will take. Sometimes Martel laughs, and sometimes her hand will come to rest on Kratos’s arm, and every so often Yuan will see Kratos smile – fleeting but _there_ all the same.

 

It angers him, to watch them together.

 

“They _are_ the adults in the group,” Mithos says one morning, upon noticing Yuan’s irritation. He smiles, mocking. “It is only right that they should enjoy each other’s company. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Yuan’s hands clench into fists. He says nothing. He knows how the others see him. They think him naïve and hotheaded, a brash, idealistic soldier above all else, a man who often allows his emotions to best him. And perhaps he is all of this and more. Perhaps he is not yet good enough to sit by their side and speak calmly of sophisticated things.

 

But still he wishes, selfishly, that Martel would look only at him. Laugh only with him. That her hands – so delicate and pale – would never again touch another man with such familiarity and tenderness.

 

And he wishes, desperately, that Kratos would look at him at all.

 

( _Who am I jealous of?_ he wonders, and finds no answer within himself.)

 

.

 

.

 

The treatment is successful. They watch in anxious silence as the crystals on her skin begin to slowly fade away. An hour later her eyes flutter open, and the relief that Yuan feels in this moment is enough to make him fall to his knees. Across from him Mithos is much the same, his small frame trembling from head to toe, eyes rimmed with red from the past sleepless nights. She blinks and smiles up at them weakly.

 

“What’s wrong?” she whispers. “Why the long faces?”

 

Yuan clasps her hand and presses it to his lips and cannot stop his tears.

 

Later, when the day is slipping away into evening and Mithos and Martel are resting side by side, he feels the weight of Kratos’s gaze upon him.

 

“You should tell her how you feel,” he says. “But then again, after _that_ display… she probably already knows.”

 

Yuan rounds on Kratos with a scowl, a flush of anger and embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck. But Kratos is not laughing. His expression is thoughtful and wholly sincere, and as he appraises Yuan there is even a hint of respect in his small, subtle smile.

 

(Yuan used to count the number of times they met on the battlefield. Used to wonder if the next battle would be the one – the one where Kratos would finally have some semblance of emotion in his eyes as they crossed blades. Arrogance, righteous fury, even hatred… Yuan would have taken them all gladly. Anything but that blank, detached indifference.

 

Who would’ve thought he’d find his recognition here, of all places?)

 

“I think it is admirable,” Kratos is saying, “for a man to care for someone to that extent.”

 

Yuan stares at him, and is struck suddenly with the urge to laugh.

 

.

 

.

 

He proposes to Martel after they make the final pact.

 

The end is in sight, he thinks with a smile. Soon it will all be done, and they will live together in some small, peaceful village where they will be known not as half-elves but as heroes. They will build a house with a garden. Martel will be the village healer, and he will take up some craft or another. They will have a child, and she will never learn to fight because such things will no longer be necessary. From time to time Mithos and Kratos will come to visit, and they will all gather around the table and reminisce about the days when they travelled the world.

 

And they will grow old together.

 

And they will be happy, until the end of their days.

 

.

 

.

 

The war ends, and Yuan buries Martel alongside their dreams.

 

.

 

.

 

Weeks fade into months, and months into years, and years into decades. Time, it seems, no longer holds any meaning, for often Yuan will blink and find the seasons changed before his eyes. Often he will travel the old roads of Tethe’alla only to find the landscape altered – man-made lakes where once there were forests, sprawling towns where once there was open land. The world moves around him, each moment as irreversible as the last, and Yuan feels as if he is being left behind.

 

One day, without warning, a thought strikes him.

 

“I don’t think this is what Martel would have wanted.”

 

Kratos turns to look at him. It is always quiet in Welgaia, but today the silence seems oppressive somehow, lying heavy like a weight upon their shoulders.

 

“No,” he says, and smiles sadly. “I don’t think so either.”

 

“So then why?” Yuan demands. “Why are you still following him?”

 

“… I promised her, Yuan. I said I’d watch over him.”

 

Yuan laughs, then, bitter and sardonic. “Yes, you’ve done such a fine job of that, haven’t you? I’m sure _Lord Yggdrasill_ is taking your counsel to heart this very moment. You know… We could be out there changing the world, Kratos, instead of driving it deeper into ruin. We could be doing what Martel always dreamed of. And yet here we are, playing along with Mithos’s mad schemes like a couple of brainless puppets.” He shakes his head scornfully and mutters: “All hail the great Seraphim of Cruxis.”

 

Kratos lowers his gaze and does not speak for a long moment. And then, finally, he says:

 

“Do you not want to bring her back?”

 

Yuan stares at him, disbelieving.

 

“Are you honestly asking me that question? Kratos… I would trade the lives of every human and elf on our miserable planet just to have her back for one more day. For one more hour, even. But all the same… I know Martel. And I know that if even one person were to die for her sake, she would never forgive any of us. That’s just who she is. And if Mithos were in his right mind he would move on and let her go, because that’s what she would’ve wanted.”

 

Yuan pauses; sighs and runs a weary hand through his hair.

 

“… Do you remember, many years ago, when you told me that love made men admirable?”

 

Kratos hesitates before he nods. He holds Yuan’s gaze steadily, indifferently, but Yuan can see the way his fingers clench, white-knuckled, at his side.

 

“Well you were wrong,” Yuan says. His voice wavers, just a little. “You were wrong.”

 

.

 

.

 

There are days when his temperament is black. Tiredness pulls at him, stretching him thin. Anger burns beneath his skin. Futility wraps its fingers around his throat and squeezes til he can barely breathe. These moods strike him abruptly and without warning, like a summer storm, and leave him just as quick.

 

On these days he walks the halls of the Renegade Headquarters and sees no one, for they have long since learned to make themselves scarce when his disposition turns foul. Botta is the only one who dares speak to him at times such as this, and even then his gaze is always lowered, his voice always quiet.

 

So when Kratos appears in his office, looking strangely glassy-eyed and forlorn, Yuan feels a kind of bitter satisfaction. Now, at least, he has someone to take his frustration out on.

 

“What did it feel like,” Kratos says, “when you fell in love with Martel?”

 

Yuan stares at him.

 

“Why?” he asks. “Found yourself a woman?”

 

When Kratos does not answer, Yuan is momentarily taken aback. He smiles, biting and acerbic. “Seriously? I had no idea you were interested in such things, Kratos. You’ve always been so infuriatingly _sensible_. Here I thought you would be alone for all eternity. Who is this wonderful woman who has captured your heart?”

 

“… She is human,” Kratos says. “I met her… at the Asgard Ranch.”

 

A stunned silence stretches between them.

 

“The humans that we keep there,” he continues. “I hardly paid them any mind. I never… I never questioned the need for the Ranches. I knew what went on there, and yet… It was all for the best, I thought. They were just another part of the plan.” He lowers himself down slowly on to a nearby chair. He’s pale. His hands are trembling. “But it’s all wrong, isn’t it? It’s like the war never ended, Yuan. What would Martel say, if she could see this? What have we done to this world?”

 

Seconds tick past, and then Yuan begins to laugh. Softly at first, but soon enough his laughter is reverberating off the walls and his shoulders are shaking and Kratos is looking at him with barely disguised concern. Even to his own ears he sounds unhinged, a man on the verge of madness, and yet he cannot help himself.

 

“ _Now_ you see?” he says. “After all these years, _now_ you refuse to look the other way?” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “You… are truly something else, Kratos. Some _woman_ you fancy yourself in love with is threatened and suddenly, for the first time in four millennia, you pull your head out of the sand. Incredible. That kind of cowardice is not easily attained, you know. One has to _work_ at it.”

 

Kratos winces visibly. He lowers his eyes and stares down at his hands, as if seeing his past sins written there.

 

“If I can just help her,” he says desperately. “If I can just help her then maybe I can start over again. Maybe I can be – ”

 

“Are you an idiot?” Yuan hisses, cutting him off. “What do you think is going to happen between you and some human lab rat?? Are you going to have a beautiful romance? Are you going to lead a happy, peaceful life together? You are an _angel_ , Kratos. Even in a perfect world, she will grow old and wither away, and you will stand by her grave looking exactly the same as the day you first met. Do you think those eighty years will be worth it, Kratos? Because they won’t. You will blink and they’ll be gone.”

 

Kratos’s expression is one of shock and misery and a hint of dismay. Yuan has never seen such emotions on his face, and feels a faint thrill at being the one to put them there.

 

(He says:

 

“Give it up. Some pathetic human woman cannot bring you happiness or atonement or whatever the hell you’re seeking.”

 

What he doesn’t say:

 

 _If you leave me, I will have no one._ )

 

.

 

.

 

The sound of the waves is calming as he presses the edge of his blade to Kratos’s throat.

 

“It’s nothing personal,” he says. “But Martel is still existing there, inside the Great Seed. She’s stuck in between life and death and she’s suffering for it, and I can’t take it any longer. I need Origin’s seal gone, Kratos. This is just the easiest way.”

 

“…It’s fine,” Kratos murmurs. His eyes are blank, similar to those that Yuan remembers from long ago, but this is a different kind of apathy. Back then, Kratos was looking for something to care for.

 

Now, he has given up.

 

“They’re dead,” he whispers. “They’re dead and I killed them.”

 

(“I let Kvar handle the woman and the child,” Mithos had said with a nonchalant shrug. He had smiled, then, languid and dangerous. “I do hope that Kratos has learned his lesson. I know he was human himself once, but honestly, consorting with a filthy creature from the Ranch? He was darkening the name of Cruxis, surely, but mostly he was just embarrassing himself.”)

 

Yuan’s blade presses closer to Kratos’s skin, drawing a bead of blood, and Kratos does not even flinch.

 

They stay like this for a long moment, until Yuan’s grip on Swallow’s hilt loosens and it falls to the deck with a resounding clang. He reaches out and twists his fingers in Kratos’s hair, yanking him up so that they are face to face.

 

“You know,” he says, “back before the war, there was a man that I respected. I spent years chasing after his shadow. I wanted his acknowledgment more than anything in the world.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Do you know what it means, for a half-elf to think of a human in such a way? It is shameful. And yet I could not help myself. He was just so… elegant with his sword in hand. It was beautiful to watch.”

 

Kratos blinks up at him. He is distant and unresponsive, a dead man in the guise of the living. Yuan sighs.

 

“You aren’t that man anymore, Kratos. He died a long time ago. Perhaps the same day as Martel. And yet… I still can’t give up on you. I wonder why that is.”

 

He lowers himself down on to the deck, the wood warm against his palms, feeling the steady lurch of the ship beneath him. He stares at the sea that surrounds them, stretching out empty for miles and miles, sunlight gleaming off the curl of the waves.

 

“They’re dead,” Kratos whispers again. “I killed them.”

 

Yuan bows his head and says nothing.

 

.

 

.

 

Day fades away into night, and they sit together, quiet and unmoving, until the tide brings them ashore.


End file.
